


Wrapped With Care

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [58]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Love, POV Loki (Marvel), Protective Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki likes it when you wear his clothes.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 12
Kudos: 344





	Wrapped With Care

You did it so easily, like you had no idea what it did to him. Because surely, if you knew how it made him want to scoop you into his arms, crush you against his body, lay claim to you with his mouth and hands, you wouldn’t be able to smile at him so innocently in the mornings.

You were wearing his shirt again. The very same shirt which he had worn yesterday. When you’d woken up this morning and slid out of bed, you must have picked it up off of the floor and put it on. Just like that. Like it was simple. Like it was nothing. And now you were sitting at your kitchen table sipping your coffee and thumbing through a book of poetry. 

He did not step through the doorway. Instead, he more or less lurked in the relative shadows of the hall and watched you. Yesterday, he’d worn a shirt that you’d gotten him before your world went into lockdown. It was nothing special, really, just a regular Midgardian shirt, but he liked it because the fabric was incredibly soft. It was a dark forest green, not quite the color of his armor, but close. He liked it, and often wore it on those lovely days when the two of you could simply sit around the apartment. It was comfortable. Knowing that you had chosen it for him, that you had touched the fabric and tried to determine which shirt he would like best, that only made it better.

On you, though… Your body transformed it into something magical. The neckline hung a bit lower on your smaller frame, and he allowed himself to drink in the sight of your bosom through the v-neck. The color was practically glowing against your skin. It was enough to make him consider dressing you in his armor, just to take in the sight of you. He imagined how the cloth must feel, warmed by sitting so close to your skin. In his imagination, he drew his hands along your back, your sides. He longed to cup your breasts in his hands, perhaps tweak your nipples through the fabric and watch you squirm.

He cleared his throat before stepping through the door to join you. If he wasn’t careful like that, it was easy for him to startle you, and he didn’t relish that unless he meant to do it. When you beamed at him, there was not a shred of Knowing in the look. Either you were a much better actor than he’d ever given you credit for or you still had yet to realize what you did to him. He allowed himself to smile back even as he swooped in to pull you up and into his arms.

It wasn’t just t-shirts, either. By now, he had a rather large collection of clothing here at your place, even before he’d come to stay with you. You’d offered him a drawer in your bureau, a rather sizable chunk of your closet space, and he had filled them. It wasn’t always the most convenient, especially when he was trying to dress in the Tower and realized that something he was looking for was at your place, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. You wanted him here. You liked him being here. You had been set up all cozy in your apartment, but as soon as things got serious between the two of you, you had not hesitated before making space for him. It was hard to say the words aloud, but he treasured how easily you had accepted him. He had always felt _wanted_ here, not merely tolerated. 

You got cold easily. On days when spring weather seemed to disappear and the world plunged once again into winter, sometimes you would sneak up behind him and slide your icy fingers beneath his shirt in search of some kind of warmth. Normally he was not one to shy away from the cold, but it felt so wrong beneath your skin, when love burned like a fire in your eyes. So he started wrapping you in blankets, in extra layers. You would laugh, or maybe pout, pretending to be upset by the fact that he did not welcome your icy touch, and he always played along. 

It became commonplace for you to zip yourself into one of his hooded sweatshirts. His sleeves would hang off of your hands, covering them. If you didn’t push the sleeves up your arms, your fingertips would just barely poke through. That shouldn’t have been as precious to him as it was. He’d come across you sometimes, bundled in his sweatshirt with the sleeves around your hands and the hood pulled up over your head, curled up on the couch working on your computer without a thought as to what _that_ did to him. Seeing you like that made him feel...proud. You looked so safe, so warm. Even when he was not nearby to protect you, his clothing was there to shield and comfort you. If you positioned the hood just right, you could sometimes look like a cloaked figure in some kind of arcane ritual, which always made him laugh to himself.

He loved to hold you while you wore his clothing. He’d bury his nose against your neck and breathe you in. He loved the scent of your skin. Your soap was nice, of course, but even beneath that, your body itself always smelled warm, almost sweet. Over the course of your relationship, maybe he came to associate your scent with _home_. You were a safe place for that small, wounded part of him that never really belonged anywhere. Most of the rest of him didn’t particularly yearn for safety or belonging anymore, long since having accepted who he was and that he’d never have a place of his own, but when he held you, whether it was on the sidewalk outside or curled safely in your bed, he had it all. 

When you wore his clothing, when you wrapped yourself in the scent of _his_ body, and let it mingle with your own, it seemed too good to be true. But you kept doing it like you didn’t mind having him on your skin. Like you _liked_ it. 

His dress shirts were especially distracting on you. He didn’t have much occasion to wear them lately, but before all this, when you stayed too late at one of Stark’s functions and then slept over in Loki’s room, you were downright _dangerous_ when you put one on. They always seemed to fit you just right, covering enough of you that you were probably more or less decent if you had to walk through the Tower, but offering a hint of delicious secret skin here and there if you moved wrong. You rarely buttoned them all the way, so it didn’t take much for him to nuzzle his way in to press a heated kiss to the curve of your breasts. Whether you rolled up his sleeves or let them hang over your hands, he couldn’t keep his own hands off of you. He didn’t bother much with cologne, even for Stark’s parties, until he caught the way it mingled with the last traces of perfume that graced your skin and made his head spin with want. 

He never teased you for wearing his things. As he took in more Midgardian media, heard how the boys here groaned about their mates stealing their clothing, he couldn’t understand it. Didn’t they know what it meant? Didn’t they appreciate the way their mate wanted to wrap themselves in them? There was not much that Loki feared, but he was worried that, if he ever breathed so much as a word about how you wore his things, you’d stop. And he simply couldn’t have that. He could not give up the way you looked in his shirt over your morning coffee. He could not give up the way you wrapped yourself in his warmth and his scent when you were cold. He would not give up the way his dress shirts both covered your body and made his hands ache to explore it.

When you wore his clothing, it was like you were telling the world—telling _him—_ that you were under his protection. You were his. 

And what more could he possibly want?


End file.
